


Let Me Go

by thunderingsea



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, I'm Sorry, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderingsea/pseuds/thunderingsea
Summary: Geralt hates the silence. It's no longer the peaceful refuge it used to be. The silence is now deafening and he is at his wit's end.Jaskier sees nothing but a world of gray. He can no longer find it in himself to do the things he used to love. He feels out of touch.TRIGGER WARNING: the entire plot revolves around an event that is violent and will be referenced to a lot. Please do not read if easily triggered. Heavy angst. I love you all, please take care of yourselves. >>> Triggering Details: Damage to the throat. Feeling unable to breathe. Scarring. Panic Attacks. Nightmares. Sleep deprivation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	1. Broken

"Elm trees are seen as protectors or, sometimes, seen as prophetic trees used for divination or.. being helpful in dreams. If that's something you believe."

A slow breath and a glance across the fire.

"Actually this one, specifically, would be called a red elm. Or, I've also heard it called a gray elm or a slippery elm. Interesting name for it. It comes from the texture of the inner bark, when you eat it. It gets.. slippery. Hence, the, uh.. name."

Careful, scarred fingers trailed through the soft grass before they grasped at a leaf that had fallen from the branches above.

"You can identify it through the leaves.. as I guess you would do with most trees. But, uh, you can tell by the shape and how, up by the stem, it's asymmetrical. You can tell it's a red elm because.. well, the tip of the leaf, here, is longer and more pointy than other species.."

A soft sort of laugh was emitted and amber eyes lifted back over the flames yet again but then, after a few seconds, the fingers that had found the leaf, crumpled it lightly. The hand slowly dropped back to the ground, releasing the leaf.

"..It can be rather dangerous if used incorrectly but people have been known to consume the inner bark to help issues with their throats. Hoarseness or soreness. Loss of v– You don't really care, do you?"

A defeated sigh.

"Sorry, I am not sure how to fill the silence any more. I know a lot about plants."

Despite, more or less, having just said he wanted to fill the silence, Geralt stopped talking. He supposed it wasn't exactly silent, not if he paid attention. In the past he would've been more than content to sit there, back against the tree, with his eyes closed. Listening.

So he tried that.

There was a constant symphony of crickets that mixed with a chorus of frogs, normal sounds of the night life of the forest. The quiet, careful steps of deer and the scurrying of mice in the underbrush. The occasional call of an owl.

Then there was the crackling fire before him, the wind in the trees above him, and the gentle, almost inaudible, scratching of a pen against parchment.

Jaskier.

The Witcher's eyes reopened and he gazed across the tiny clearing, over the top of the fire, so that he could study the way that his travel companion was seated against the trunk of his own tree. The way he sat, one leg tucked under him as he other was upright and bent at the knee so that he could rest his notebook against it. The wind, every so often, caught the man's soft brown hair and ruffled it. The way the bard would nibble lightly on the corner of his bottom lip, every so often, as he focused.

But, Geralt knew he wasn't writing. The man didn't do that anymore. In fact, he hadn't written any sort of poem or song lyric in many months. He was now filling his notebook with sketches, or so he had glimpsed. He had yet to actually get a good look at what the man was drawing and he couldn't ask because he knew Jaskier wouldn't show him. He frequently tilted the notebook away from Geralt's eyes if they got too curious.

Silence used to be so peaceful to him. But now? Now, all it did was hurt.

"You should play a song."

The quiet scratching, of the hollow reed against the paper, stopped quite abruptly. Jaskier finally raised his head and met Geralt's eyes with his own, exhausted gaze. He blinked at him and then just shook his head with a quiet sigh. He didn't look upset or annoyed, simply drained and, well, a bit sad.

"Just something simple?"

Geralt sighed heavily as he lost Jaskier's eyes once more as they lowered back to the paper in front of him. The pen started up again, light pauses to indicate when he moved to dip the tip of it back into the inkwell by his side.

Not knowing what else to do that night that would distract him sufficiently from the empty feeling in his chest, he decided to shift around until he had his bedroll situated so that he could lay comfortably beneath the elm. Perhaps the elm would help him sleep. They were supposed to help dreams, maybe pulling him into sleep would be part of that.

Knowing that he shouldn't be frustrated, didn't help the fact that frustration clawed at him like an angry animal. He'd been trying for so long to just get some kind of response from Jaskier. One that was actually verbal and audible. None of that humming and soft grunts of acknowledgment shit. As the days turned into weeks, turned into months, his frustration only grew.

He wanted nothing more than to just take the man by the shoulders, shake him and ask him, 'why'. Or to cry. To just find a spot by himself, bury his face into his hands, and let it all seep out through tears.

But, he was beginning to realize that, maybe, he should stop trying. To accept that Jaskier wouldn't talk. To be more patient. He had been patient but, not always in a meaningful way. It was obvious that he was desperately trying to engage Jaskier, trying to pull him into a conversation. Maybe he should stop trying and maybe, just maybe, the bard would finally find his voice.

And then there was the guilt.

It was his fault. He knew it was. What could Jaskier have done to stop it? Nothing. So, who was he to be frustrated by the results of his own mistakes? He had no right to feel that way, not when Jaskier was obviously suffering. In pain because of Geralt.

Usually, those sort of thoughts kept him up all night and well into the early morning, but Geralt found himself drifting into the peaceful embrace of sleep, the wind whistling through the leaves above him.

———————————————————————————————

Jaskier had settled down for the night, perhaps an hour or so after Geralt had laid down, and he had, surprisingly, fallen asleep rather quickly. The fire was warm and the breeze was cool. He felt safe in that clearing, which was an unusual feeling as of late, but he would take it while he could.

He had fallen asleep easily but that did not mean that he stayed asleep.

The nightmares that had plagued him these past long months did not give him peace that night. Far from it. His nightmares always twisted an already dark experience to become so horrifying that he would stay up for nights on end. This night was no different.

It had been hours since he had fallen asleep but it was still hours until dawn. It was then, when he was deep in his slumber, that the nightmares finally struck. They had him shifting where he lay, brows furrowing and expression twitching as he let out heavy breaths. After five or so minutes of restless movement, he finally jerked awake.

His entire body was trembling, his heart racing at an incredible rate as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

He sat himself up, gasping for air as his shaking hands started to undo the ties of his tunic. Wheezing and sucking in strangled breaths, he finished untying his tunic so that he could slide his hand under, to his skin. When he finally touched his skin, he rubbed at his chest, trying to relieve the struggle as he tilted his head back against the tree behind him.

His eyelids fluttered and he swallowed hard a few times as his hand slid up to his throat, rubbing either side.

"Jaskier?"

He sucked in another strangled sounding breath, gasping louder as his feet dragged desperately against the ground, obviously not being able to get in enough air. As he did that, he heard the Witcher scrambling to his feet.

"Jaskier? Jaskier. Breathe," Geralt murmured as he moved close, crouching next to him before shifting onto his knees. His hands hovered in front of Jaskier, seemingly hesitant to touch him, but when the bard didn't listen to him, he carefully pressed a hand to his shoulder.

"You can breathe. Hey. I know you can. Come on."

A whimper left Jaskier and he closed his eyes fully as tears rolled down his cheeks. Fear grasped at him and he moved one hand out to press against the Witcher's chest, looking like he was going to push him away. But he didn't. Instead, as Geralt continued to coax and encourage him to breathe, Jaskier was finally able to take in a slightly deeper breath.

"There you go. Just.. just keep doing that, just breathe," Geralt whispered, sounding relieved as he squeezed his shoulder. "Match my breath."

Jaskier did as he was instructed and he focused on listening to Geralt taking in those slow, deep breaths which did eventually help him calm down from the state he had worked himself up to. He was able to find calm for a few moments as his breathing became easier but once he recovered from that, it allowed him to focus on what had just happened. 

The tears continued to trickle down his cheeks, however, and his breaths were still shaky. He began to sniffle with every few breaths, his nostrils flaring a bit as his lips trembled. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down hard as his expression crumpled in distress. The tears streamed down more quickly, streaking down his neck and into his hair as his head remained tilted back. When his hand came up to scratch at the scars that marked across his throat, slightly raised and uneven, Geralt's hand took his, guiding it off of his throat.

"Don't."

Geralt's voice was softer than usual and he could distinctly pick out that tone of guilt. Oh, it made his heart hurt. He didn't want Geralt to blame himself for all of this but he knew there was no way he could relate that to him. He could try to explain it to him verbally, which was always more effective, but he couldn't make himself talk. Couldn't stomach it.

"Nightmare?" He heard Geralt ask and he nodded slowly, letting his hand go limp in the other's hold. His hand was guided into his lap. The Witcher moved back, only to sit down next to him. "Was it about.. what happened?"

Jaskier's eyes opened and he gazed up at the treetops as he searched through the branches to find the twinkling stars above them. He let his attention linger there for some time before he tilted his head to look at his companion. He simply raised his brows and gave a weak smile.

"I'm sorry." 

The bard shook his head and frowned, now, instead. He reached forward and slipped his hand into the other's, squeezing gently.

"It's.. is there anything I can do to help?" He asked, frowning deeply as well once Jaskier took his hand away. "Jaskier. You barely sleep anymore. You eat only when I urge you to. You.. you haven't played your lute since everything happened."

Not wanting to listen to this, Jaskier climbed to his feet and sniffed, rubbing at his nose as he stepped away. He went about tying his tunic back together as he pressed his lips into a thin line. He heard Geralt huff, leaves and sticks crunching as he stood up as well. His fingers brushed Jaskier's elbow and the bard jerked away from the touch, eyeing the other from over his shoulder.

"Talk to me."

His teeth gritted and he turned to Geralt fully, shoving at his chest as he glared at him. He blew out a long, hard breath from out of his nose as he shoved him again before pointing towards where the other had been sleeping previously.

"I'm not going back to sleep until you tell me how I can help."

Jaskier squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed both of his hands over his face. He shook his head and then slid his hands through his hair, clutching the short locks. He was biting hard onto his bottom lip as he finally dropped his hands, turning away to look down at his notebook.

He paused, thinking things over in his head before moving over to snatch up the notebook. He flipped through it angrily and then stopped, ripping out a blank page. He snapped it closed. Standing up with it and his pen, he started to scribble out a few words.

You are unbelievable, Geralt. Will you leave me be? When will you get it into your head that I can not speak? That I never will? Go to sleep.

He read it over a few times and then turned back to Geralt, holding it out to him. The other looked surprised, glancing between the piece of parchment and Jaskier's face. The look of surprise was warranted, he supposed, since he hadn't actually used this method to communicate. He was barely ever in the present enough to actively participate in a conversation and he had come up with various hand gestures that would help him quickly supply Geralt with information he needed.

"So, what? This is what we're doing now? If you want to talk to me, then talk to me," Geralt told him, sounding frustrated and probably a little upset.

Jaskier stepped closer and continued to hold out the paper, staring him down until Geralt relented and snatched the paper from his hand. The bard stepped back once the paper was taken and he crossed his arms over his chest, studying the other's face as he read the message.

Geralt's expression softened slightly, not so hard around the edges any longer and he looked somewhat guilty as he seemed lost in thought for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," He murmured and folded the message up slowly, raising his head to look back at Jaskier. "I just.. don't know what to do anymore." His shoulders slouched and he tapped the folded paper against his hand. "You don't sing or play your music anymore. You seem to.. passively exist now. I don't know what to do with you anymore, how to fix you."

Jaskier stared at him for a few moments and then looked down with a frown at those last few words. He wrinkled his nose, moving back to sit down against the tree.

"I worded that badly– not.. Jaskier.." Geralt sighed as he watched the bard and he flexed his hand as he obviously struggled to say something. But when Jaskier lay himself back down, rolling onto his side, he heard Geralt give another sigh before walking back to where he had been laying before. "Goodnight."

Jaskier lay there for hours, unable to sleep again, and his head was swimming with the thoughts that tortured him after that interaction. Surely Geralt meant that he was a burden. No longer contributing, no longer making them coin. A broken tag along.

He'd been feeling like that for a while now. That he needed to relieve Geralt of taking care of him when there was nothing in it for the Witcher. He just hadn't wanted to leave yet. Geralt was his life line, the last thing keeping him grounded through the confusing mists that his life had become.

But he couldn't keep leeching off of the other.

It wasn't fair.

It was close to dawn when Jaskier finally sat up again, beginning to quietly pack up his things. He shifted around with soft movements, not wanting to wake Geralt as he prepared to take his leave. He wouldn't be able to leave with Geralt conscious and actually aware of what was going on. It was easier this way. For both of them.

His cold, stiff fingers tied his bag closed and he slipped his lute over his head, positioning it onto his back. Looking around, he took his time to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything before sitting back down where he had been.

He gazed at Geralt's sleeping form, committing the image of his peace to memory, as he lingered there. He was having doubts about actually leaving but then he remembered what it would be like once Geralt woke up. The one sided conversation. The subtle looks of pity or of guilt.

Pulling his notebook back out, he ripped out another blank page and began to compose a farewell letter, briefly explaining to him why he was taking his leave. Geralt deserved that much. To know why Jaskier had to leave.

He took his time reading it over, trying to delay having to leave but, as the sun continued to rise, he stood up with his things.

He didn't want to risk waking Geralt by moving too close so he walked over to Roach, smiling at her before settling the letter on top of the saddlebags that were stacked near her. He briefly reached out and smoothed his hand down her neck, surprised that she didn't move away from his touch. She seemed to look at him with sadness in her brown eyes and he furrowed his brows, tilting his head.

He stayed with her for a while longer but knew that he was pushing it now, so he leaned in to press a kiss to her nose. She nickered softly and he smiled sadly before pulling away.

Jaskier paused at the edge of the clearing, looking at Geralt once more with a heavy heart and then turned away, setting off alone, into the woods.


	2. Lost

Jaskier was gone.

Geralt's heart was in his throat and fear gripped in a way that he had never felt before, its cold claws sinking deep into his stomach. Twisting.

The Witcher was frozen to his spot, though. He was stuck, staring at where Jaskier had been laying just hours ago. All of his things were gone and the scent of him had grown stale in those hours that had gone by since he had departed.

What had he done?

He should've been gentler, more understanding. Shouldn't have pushed him. Shouldn't have..

Fuck.

It was a struggle but he was eventually able to drag himself to his feet and he rubbed his hand over his face, trying to collect his thoughts as they were effectively scattered by that morning's discovery. But once his subtly shaking hand dropped, he noticed the folded papers that sat atop his bags.

The claws sank in deeper and dread seeped in, making the tips of his fingers tingle. Sharp heat bloomed in the centers of his cheek as his chest tightened and the tingling worsened.

He carefully stepped over, towards the folded papers, and hesitated before lifting them off of the bags. He felt his hand tremble as he unfolded the letter. He balled his other hand into a tight fist, willing away such tremors as he hardened his resolve. Clenched his teeth.

And he began to read.

And what he read had him slowly returning to the ground.

He slid down the trunk of the elm, letting himself settle heavily and abruptly on the ground as he read the words quickly. He held his breath the entire time he read it and his face went through a series of pained expressions as he processed each sentence.

What had he done?

This was all his fault.

He hadn't been able to protect the bard in the first place and now he had made him feel like a burden. How could he let this happen? How could he be so careless?

His head bowed forward and he folded the letter back up before gripping it tightly in his hand as he gritted his teeth. Anger surged through his body. Anger at himself, anger at what had happened to Jaskier, anger at literally anything his mind could latch onto as his eyes began to burn.

Hot tears, full of his fury, streamed down his cheeks freely and he bowed forward more, letting out a strangled cry that sounded like it had been ripped from his throat. The cry crescendoed into an indescribable sound of agony as all of the emotions he'd been bottling up, over the last few months, came pouring out as one. A mixture of rage and anguish.

He hadn't felt anything like it before, at least not to that scale, and his sounds tapered off into a whimper as his face fell into his hands. His shoulders shook with soft sobs as a headache slowly began to form, making his head throb.

Once upon a time, he had been able to easily compartmentalize or just completely avoid addressing his emotions. So much so that it got to the point where he began to believe people when they accused him of being emotionless and cold.

But Jaskier had changed that. Slowly, but surely, the bard had gently unlocked the Witcher's heart and took him by the hand into a comfortable friendship. A haven. A safe place for him to tentatively express himself.

And in that moment, Geralt wished, so terribly, that the Trials had somehow taken his emotions like people tried to claim. His mind and heart hurt so horribly that it made his body, itself, physically hurt.

He didn't want to feel this anymore.

He didn't know how to get through this without Jaskier. His friend was always patient with him when he got frustrated or angry and Geralt didn't know how to do this without him.

What had he done? Why did he drive him away?

By the time Geralt had calmed himself enough and shut his mind down so that he could pack up camp, it was well into the morning.

Despite Jaskier's scent having gone stale, Geralt could still follow it to the edges of the clearing, figuring out which direction he had gone. From there, it was a matter of reading the environment to see where Jaskier had passed through. 

From depressions in the earth to broken twigs, thickets that had been struggled through and the ever present scent.

It was difficult following because the man had gone along narrow paths and gone through tricky underbrush that was hard to guide Roach through. There were many times where Geralt wished to give up out of pure frustration.

But he didn't. 

Damn it, he had to find Jaskier. He had to tell him..

Had to tell him what?

Hm.

His heart ached at the man's absence and he was gripped with fear about what trouble his bard could fall into.

The hours dragged on and on. As they did so, it became more and more apparent that Jaskier hadn't wanted him to follow. The fact that he had left in the dark hours could've told him that, alone, but the knowledge that Jaskier was going out of his way, it seemed, to make this hard for him? It made him want to die.

It made him want to give up and bury all of his emotions again, turn numb to the world and to never open his heart to someone again. Because the moment he cared about someone, he let them get hurt.. and.. and they hurt him in return.

It was close to sunset by the time he made it to a creek and he stood there, with a lost expression, as he watched the water rush by. His hand dropped Roach's reins and he crouched down near the edge of the water before falling back onto his rear end.

Shit.

He dug the heel of his palm into his forehead as he tried to swallow past the lump forming in his throat.

This is where the trail went cold. Where Jaskier's scent vanished and.. oh, if Jaskier knew what he was doing, he wouldn't be able to pick the trail back up very easily. He was stuck there. Stuck with the worst decision he had to make. He had to decide now which way he was going to follow the river.

He didn't know how far Jaskier had followed the river so he'd have to search both banks for at least a mile and by then–

This was going to take hours. And the sun was setting, he was losing the light. He'd have to wait until the morning and if he chose the wrong direction, he most likely wouldn't be able to find the trail again. Not with how much animal traffic there was in the area. Jaskier's already stale scent would be lost in fresher ones and any tracks left behind would get covered up within the day.

But there wasn't much he could do with the approaching darkness so he used the last of his light to set up a small camp for himself. He could see in the dark better than normal humans but it was different for tracking. It would be so easy to miss important signs if he wasn't careful enough.

So there he was, alone and worried as he lay in front of his small fire but he did his best to put his mind to rest for the night, all so that he could properly fall asleep.

——————————————————————————————

His feet hurt. His hands hurt. His head hurt. His throat hurt. His heart hurt.

Fuck. Everything hurt. 

Maybe he had been sleeping in a rather unfortunate position the night before, who knows? Would explain the crick in his neck. The tense, twinging sensation that pulled like a taut bow string, every time he turned his head. The knot caused the headache, to be sure. Yes, that must be it. The pounding, throbbing headache that splintered across his brow every time he looked too much into the direction of the sun. Hm. Perhaps not the knot. That would be a different kind of headache. That headache would've been located nearer to the back of his head. Lack of sleep. Yes, that was the cause of the headache. He hadn't slept properly in ages upon ages, it felt like. Sleepless or restless nights turned into frenzied hours of nonsensical drawing until his hands cramped up and, dear gods, he was sure his fingers had blisters. No. Perhaps not. Just an exaggeration. Well, they did hurt a lot, thank you very much. But no, they didn't have blisters, not like his feet. His damned feet in their worn boots that he should've thrown out a while ago. His toes peeked out the sides of them, slightly, but he had no coin to purchase new ones. Not now. Not anymore. Because he didn't perform anymore. He didn't perform anymore because of his fucking voice. That horrid thing and the damage that his throat had sustained. The damage that he could still feel every time that he swallowed. The damage that he felt, rattling slightly with every breath. And because of all that, he didn't like to perform anymore. Not when it reminded him of all that he had lost. His livelihood? Gone. His motivations? Gone. His will? Gone. His chest ached every time he thought about it and now his chest tightened with every thought of having left Geralt behind. He couldn't believe he had left the Witcher. His best friend. The one who had saved his life when he could've just as easily died had Geralt not known what to do. But no, no! He couldn't go back. He couldn't bear the thought of being a burden. Of watching Geralt watch him deteriorate emotionally. He didn't want to keep dealing with–

Jaskier tripped over a large, gnarled root and his racing thoughts abruptly cut off as he fell, face first, into the underbrush. He scraped his hands against brambles and hissed in pain as the sharp thorns caught at his face. He huffed a few times, willing away frustrated tears as he pushed himself back up. His face stung with all the tiny little scrapes but it wasn't nearly as back as the deeper scratches on his palms. They weren't bleeding but they were an angry, angry red.

He stepped back and sniffed a couple times before sitting himself down so that he could pour a bit of his water across them. It stung even worse and he clenched his teeth hard which only made his pounding headache worse, as well. He groaned quietly and sniffled again, rubbing his nose with that back of his wrist.

Luckily, the scratches didn't need any bandages, because he didn't have any, but they still continued to sting something fierce as he pushed himself back up.

He needed to keep going. 

He needed to run Geralt off of his trail because he knew the Witcher would follow him. He saw the constant pity in the wolf's eyes, knew that Geralt didn't care that Jaskier was a burden. That he wanted to help.

But Jaskier cared.

He didn't want to be a burden. He didn't want to be leeching off of his best friend. He didn't want to be taking advantage of his compassion.

The compassion that people seemed to ignore when they wished to see Witchers as monsters; mindless, emotionless killers. Those people who.. who Geralt would be at the mercy of.. all alone.

Jaskier stopped and turned to look behind himself, looking perplexed as his lips trembled lightly. He suddenly felt torn and was scared that he had left Geralt defenseless against those horrid people. He knew how emotionally vulnerable his friend could be even if Geralt didn't want him to know.

He stood there, stock still, for nearly a half hour as he tried to weigh his reasonings against his fears. As he ground his molars together. His headache only spiked and his chest only tightened. 

No.

He couldn't go back.

Geralt would be fine without him. If he needed someone to replace Jaskier, he would find someone, eventually. He was sure that that was all easy enough.

And he didn't want the guilt.

The bard, if he could even call himself that anymore, continued on after that. He continued to follow deer trails and winded around in what seemed like aimless directions but he was sure he was heading south steadily enough.

He routinely went in circles or backtracked his steps, making a mess in some places before trying to leave little to no trace in others. It was all very irregular and he hoped it would at least throw Geralt off a bit.

It was near midday, however, when he realized that his efforts probably weren't as good as he hoped they would be. So, he began to follow the sound of rushing water, following the deer paths that became more numerous as he neared the source of fresh water.

He eventually came upon a rather broad creek but he could see the bottom well enough so he jumped in. The water went up to his hips and it was terribly cold, making him immediately shiver. But he knew that the river would kill off his scent and cover his tracks so he started back the way he had come. He hoped that Geralt would assume he went south since that would be going with the current and would be much easier.

He struggled on, north, for fifteen or so minutes before he just couldn't stand it any more. He pulled himself out of the water and let out a few shaky breaths as he crawled onto the far bank. He was grateful for the warmth that the sun had and he lay on the grass, a few paces away from the bank. His teeth chattered and his head felt like it was cracking open as he closed his eyes.

Perhaps that hadn't been the smartest idea.

Perhaps the fact that it hadn't been smart was glaringly obvious but.. well, he could not change that now.

He would have to suffer the consequences of his unfortunate, spur of the moment, decision.

Jaskier lay there, shivering for a bit, as he caught his breath before taking off his pack fully. He stood up and stripped out of all of his wet clothes, using the dry part of his tunic to dry himself off somewhat. He wrung out his clothes as best as he could before unpacking his spare clothes. He stuffed the damp clothes into the bottom, hoping they wouldn't stink up the pack with a musty smell before he could hang them to dry that night.

He wrapped himself up in his blanket that had been rolled up and attached to the top of his pack. He bundled it close, trapping in his body heat and sitting out in a sunnier spot as he willed himself to warm up.

Against what he had hoped, the warmth of the sun made him drowsy and the shivering was draining what little energy he had left so he drifted off. He fell asleep, neatly snuggled up in his blanket as the sound of rushing water eased him into his dreams.


End file.
